


Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Stetson by Sage

by sageness



Category: 13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird - Wallace Stevens, due South
Genre: Canon - TV, Community: ds_flashfiction, Gen, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-17
Updated: 2008-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 18:28:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sageness/pseuds/sageness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something a little unconventional for the ds_flashfiction Hat Challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Stetson by Sage

**Author's Note:**

> _  after Wallace Stevens' [Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird](http://www.writing.upenn.edu/~afilreis/88/stevens-13ways.html)_
> 
> Many thanks to china_shop for the beta and for the Stevens prompt. :)

 

 

 

The women preen and flirt.  
The Stetson dips slightly and turns  
away.

                          ~

Bullets fly. The Stetson dodges.  
It dips and weaves.

At times it flies off, caught upon a stiff  
breeze. Once, it is pierced.

                          ~

The streets of Chicago pass in a blur.  
A door opens on a rush of wind.  
The Stetson's inner band grips tight  
and prepares to roll.

                          ~

The fur of the half-wolf clings to its felt;  
its wearer cleans it with a velvet brush.  
On a clockwork schedule, the Stetson meets  
iron and steam.

                          ~

At the height of city summer, it lies wilted  
and limp. In the North, the air is crisp,  
weightless.

The Stetson contracts: its fibers bristle  
and remember.

                          ~

The cabin smells of evergreen.  
The office smells of paper and neatsfoot oil.  
The Stetson smells of wool, leather, hair  
tonic, and Mountie.

                          ~

The boat lies beneath Lake Superior.  
Upon the lake's surface lies a Stetson.

                          ~

The men preen and flirt. The Stetson  
lingers.

                          ~

All things are Stetson except its wearer.

                          ~

The detective's hair prickles, tickles,  
like the corners of the colored paper  
the wearer tucks within its inner band.

It slips and lurches to and fro, ill fit, unable  
to sit.

                          ~

Long ago, the Stetson knew many others.  
It used to hang on oaken racks among  
a hundred like it.

Now the Stetson sees few of its kind.  
It does not miss them.

                          ~

In the photograph, there is a man, a man, a half-wolf, and a Stetson.

The Stetson is not where it should be.

                          ~

The man lifts the Stetson and flings it away.

"Ray!" cries the wearer. The Stetson slides  
to a halt at the edge of the kitchen counter,  
overbalances, and topples onto a barstool.

"No harm, see?" says the man, placing the Stetson  
on the bar with exaggerated care.

Fingers card through the wearer's hair;  
the men move away, out of sight.

The Stetson remains, forgotten.


End file.
